


Nom de Guerre

by HattoriPornzo



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, British Soldiers Hux and Rey, Crossdressing, F/M, False Identity, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Injury, Injury Recovery, Living Together, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Tension, Sex, Sexual Tension, Soft boi Hux, Vaginal Sex, War, this is so soft wtf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HattoriPornzo/pseuds/HattoriPornzo
Summary: “Hux,” she called out, suddenly.He turned, drawing a deep breath.“Thank you.”For helping with the bandage? For supper? For essentially lying to his king and country?“You’re welcome.”When Major General Hux makes a startling realization about Lieutenant Ray Johnson, he vows to keep the young soldier's secret...and loses his heart along the way.





	1. Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RogueCompanion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueCompanion/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful, darling, RogueCompanion who requested a Historical AU + caring for a sick or injured character trope.  
> Probably some historical inaccuracies in here despite the stupid amount of research I did for this.  
> -
> 
> Nom de Guerre: an assumed name under which a person engages in combat or some other activity or enterprise.

“God damn it, Johnson, stay with me,” Major General Hux hissed.

He lifted the soldier’s body up, shaking him until the young Lieutenant was able to crack open one eye and sling an arm over his shoulder. Mud sprayed over the foxhole as another explosion rang out, this time hitting closer.

It was 1945 and things were going well for the Allies, but at this moment, they were decidedly not going well for Armitage Hux. 

His ears rang and his vision was blurred from the blood running down his face and the dirt in his eyes. He should have been leading his troops from the back, safe inside a tank, but at the last moment before they were clear to advance, he saw the familiar figure of the Lieutenant, face down in the mud through the view in his scope. A tank lay some yards away, turned over. 

As he sat at the scope, he remembered a day when he’d been distracted by enemy troops on the horizon, machine gun in hand, and the slight body of Ray Johnson slammed into his own, a barrage of bullets whizzing past his head a moment later.

Ray Johnson, then an Ensign and the only one to see the sniper in the tree line. Ray Johnson, perhaps the closest thing to a friend Hux ever had. It was thanks to him that Hux was alive today. He cursed loudly and leapt from the tank, turning over command. If he didn’t get to cover before they finished off and pulled out…well, so be it. Keep Calm and Carry On, as they say.

He found it was easier said than done as bullets rained down on them. Rewards for his troubles, he thought, scowling as he ran through the sludge, dragging the young man’s body.

Ray was as good a soldier as he’d ever worked with. Probably the best. He had never considered himself close with any of his men, with anyone period, but Ray had a way of getting him to open up. 

How many nights had they spent staring up at the stars from some miserable pit in the ground, waiting for word to advance? He was so young, so much smaller than the others, but he was twice as brave as any of them and unerringly loyal. 

One night, when they were holed up in the ruins of what used to be a pub in the little German town they were passing through, they had confided in each other the stories of their childhoods. Neither of them had been easy. 

Ray had grown up in the slums of London, collecting scraps for a tyrannical overseer, always hungry, always scraping to get by. He enlisted as soon as he could. 

Hux had been the family disappointment, born of an illicit affair between his father and a kitchen maid, constantly reminded of his shortcomings by the back of his father’s hand. Then the war came, the second to engulf the world. And he took to military leadership like a fish to water. Ray was the only one of his men to not hold his German heritage against him, never joining in when they whispered harshly behind his back.

They arrived at the edge of a woods and he was vaguely aware of the fact that the sounds of battle were now muffled in the distance. His legs felt like they were on fire. Every muscle seemed to groan from strain but he pressed on, looking from right to left, his breath coming out in ragged huffs as he tried to figure out their position.

He stalked into the woods, veering off to the right. If he was guessing correctly, they should reach the medical tents this way. And maybe an air transport. Maybe a way out of this god forsaken country. 

“Almost there,” he promised the soldier whose body he held up. He heard a soft groan and it revitalized him. They were going to survive this. He swore it then and there that they’d make it out. The blood running over his eye began to dry and crust in his eyelashes as they pushed deeper into the forest. When they were too far away to hear the explosions and gunshots, he gave into the jelly feeling in his legs and carefully lowered his countryman to the ground, collapsing against a tree. 

He pulled deep gulps of air into his lungs before taking in their surroundings. Was the Rhine this way or that? He wasn’t even sure what time of day it was anymore. How long had they been fighting? The woods were full of hazy gray mist. It might have been morning, or midday at the latest, he guessed. His head pulsed and throbbed. Cold seeped through the wool of his uniform down to his skin, to his bones.

The soft, wet lichen felt like feather down pillows to his muddled senses but he couldn’t give in to the weariness threatening to take over his mind. He scanned the body of the troop beside him, taking in the hand and leg covered in blood. He then reached into the pack tied to his belt and pulled out a half full flask and bandages. With shaking hands, numb from cold and exhaustion, he pushed the youth’s hair aside, slapping a freckled cheek lightly.

“Johnson,” he prompted, watching thick brown lashes flicker and a grimace appear. Christ, he looked so young. He knew firsthand that Ray was a crack shot and fierce fighter but looking down at the soft features before him, he couldn’t help but feel that this was no place for someone so innocent looking. He’d be damned if he let him die in these cruel woods, so far from England’s shores. He propped up the Lieutenant’s head, fingers slipping into the tousle of cropped chestnut colored waves. He pressed the mouth of the flask to his cracked, pink lips. 

“Drink,” he instructed, cradling Johnson’s head in his palm. Thin brows knit together as the water trickled down passed his parted lips, and Hux breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his junior officer swallow. He took a swig himself before setting it aside. He quickly set about assessing his compatriot’s wounds.

Picking up the bleeding hand, he turned it over in his own, causing its owner to wince. It was badly lacerated and mangled but with luck, he would keep it. He rinsed off the dirt and dried blood and bandaged it, glad now of his medical training. He then turned his attention to his wounded ankle. He tried to remove the muddied boot but Johnson cried out in pain. It was definitely broken, not likely a clean fracture either. There were probably shards of bone all knocked about. No wonder he could barely hobble. He went to brush some of the dirt from Johnson’s face again when he saw deep, wet burgundy staining his collar. He hurried to unbutton the greenish brown woolen shirt, looking for where the blood was coming from, when a shaking hand shot up to grip his wrist with more strength than he would have thought capable of a man so badly injured.

“I’m trying to help,” Hux insisted with a frown, sure the young man was in shock and unawares. He pressed his hand to his forehead to check for fever. He felt fine. Hux wiped at his own sweat and blood covered face with his sleeve before wrapping his hands around the youth’s collar again, tugging at it.

“No,” Johnson protested weakly, peeling open one hazel eye to fix the Major General with a pleading, horrified stare. “D-don’t.”

“You’re bleeding,” Hux growled, determined to get to the wound, damn the boy’s sudden shyness- or madness, perhaps. War did strange things to a man. They struggled with one another, digging into the sodden, mist-wet ground, pine needles and leaves scattering beneath them and sticking to their clothes. In the end, the Lieutenant was just too weak to fight the older officer and he successfully tugged the material of the shirt out from beneath the uniform’s tight waistband, ripping it open.

His breath caught at the sight of tightly wrapped bandages.

“Johnson,” he scowled, “Are you hurt? How long have you- you’ve got to be fucking kidding-,” but his words of frustration died in his throat as he exposed the entirety of “Ray’s” chest. There was a shallow, superficial scrape along the collarbone, where the blood was coming from, but as his eyes traveled downward, realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.

The small brunette turned away, tears brimming behind his hazel eyes. No- _her_ hazel eyes.

“What is this?” he asked, voice shaking with anger and confusion. “Who are you?” he demanded, grasping the collar of her shirt in his tight fist and bringing her up to his face, causing her to hiss in pain. Normally well-trained strands of bright orange hair hung in front of his eyes, drenched with sweat and muck. He practically trembled with rage, hand going for the gun at his hip until she sobbed and coughed, making him go still.

“I’m Rey,” she gasped, head lolling back, her vision coming and going. “My name is- is Reychelle Johnson.”

The agony in her voice seemed to snap him out of his fury induced haze. He lowered her back to the ground gently. Her voice was weak and cracked as she tried desperately to explain.

“P-please- you can’t let them see,” she wheezed. “Please. Hux.” A tear streamed down her face, growing grey as it collected the dirt from her cheek and leaving behind a clean path, skin pink in equal parts from the icy air and distress. He cursed loudly, hanging his head and holding back a sob that threatened to rack his chest, suddenly overcome. He’d been lied to this whole time by this- this-

“Are you a spy?” he demanded, thinking back to their every encounter, trying to suss out anything he might have missed; some tidbit of information he might have fed her that could have endangered his troops or his country.

“No!” she cried, “I had no choice, Hux. Wo-women can’t be s-soldiers.” Tears began to creep down her face in earnest now and he watched as her cheeks and nose reddened, even under the layer of filth. He was a fool. An absolute fool. How could he have missed this? It was as plain to him as anything now. The curve of her mouth. The gentle slope of her neck. He laughed bitterly, folding in half over her body. 

“Please,” she whispered, sobbing into the misty cold air that clung to the woods around them. “You can-can’t let them see.”

He swallowed thickly before pulling back to look at her. He remembered the boy who saved him from the sniper and sat awake with him under the stars, uncertain of the future. Only, it had never been a boy. It was always this woman, who trembled underneath him now, who needed him, relied on him. His hands were strangely steady as he did up her shirt again, covering the bandages that concealed her breasts. 

He would carry her to the medic. He would make sure her secret was safe.

They were airlifted from the battlefield nine hours later. He kept her secret from the nurses and field medics, insisting there was no reason to remove her shirt or trousers with fierce determination, and when one argued, he pressed his gold pocket watch into his palm. It was enough, apparently. At the hospital, he paid a doctor to diagnose him with tuberculosis and to not look too closely at the Lieutenant that came in with him. And with that, both he and “Ray Johnson” were honorably discharged. When they returned to England, he skulked away to one of his family’s infrequently called upon manors in North Wales. With Rey in tow.

\---

It was a grey, quiet day when they arrived. He didn’t hold the car door open for her. The driver looked on in concern for his lack of manners and it took him a moment to realize the indignant look was because he didn’t hold open the door for a woman, one with a cast on her leg no less. This was taking some getting used to. His eyes lingered on the plain calf brown frock he’d procured for her when they arrived. Although it was far from particularly feminine, it accentuated her form in a way no military uniform could. That was taking some getting used to as well.

She hobbled up the stone steps to the manor on crutches. The building was high and lonely, with a facade that felt somehow melancholy. It rose up out of the fields, chimneys and pointed roofs standing tall and stalwart, like an old forgotten shrine to an era past of grand hunting parties and upper crust ennui. When the door slammed shut behind them, it took her a moment to adjust to the darkness, made easier for only a second when Hux lit a match, bringing it to the end of the cigarette between his lips before shaking it out.

Rey looked around, surprised by how empty the place was. Whatever her childhood ideas of manors were, this didn’t quite live up to them. There was some water damage on the walls and floor and what little furniture there was lay under white sheets, abandoned servants without masters to cater to. Everything seemed to be encased in a thick layer of dust, as though no one had entered for a very long time. She suspected it had been cold and austere even when it had been lived in.

“Major-”

He cut her off, holding up a hand.

“I think you’d better call me Hux,” he said, turning away, although she still caught his perturbed expression.

“Take any bedroom you wish,” he sighed, lifting their luggage and slinking down the hallway. “There are twelve.”

Rey stood awkwardly in the entryway for a long moment, one foot cocked, made heavy by the thick cast around it, before limping behind him. It didn’t take her long to catch up as he stood immobile in front of an enormous, winding staircase looking up to the three floors above. He shook his head and let out a heavy groan before turning back down the hall.

“Come on.”

He led her to a wood paneled room flanked by mostly empty bookshelves before setting down her duffel bag and gesturing towards what appeared to be a massive sofa underneath an old sheet. He collected the sheet and she sat, clumsily arranging her crutches beside her. She watched as he stalked off without a word and a moment later she heard his footfalls on the stairs, growing quieter as he went. She took the opportunity to study the room. 

There was a cracked mirror above a soot-stained fireplace and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Some books were left stranded behind the dust-shaded glass of the tall shelves. It was probably five yards from floor to ceiling and Rey wondered how anyone could need so much room. There was a ladder for reaching the top shelves. The ceiling was crumbly looking but covered in intricate designs, centered around a large medallion. In the corner of the room there sat an old piano looking woefully abandoned. When Hux returned, he dropped several thick quilts and pillows beside her. She blinked at him.

“You can’t climb the stairs,” he muttered, “This will have to do for now. There's a water closet down the corridor, and full bathroom the other way by the servant's quarters. I'll stock them both with towels.”

He turned and hovered near the door. 

“Call if you need anything.”

And with that, he was gone. Rey spread out on the wide settee as best she could, arranging the pillows and pulling the quilts over her. The house smelled of age and dust but somehow, she found it comforting. She wasn't shivering in an alley or huddling in a frozen foxhole. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

She awoke to the sound of creaking wood. The cool light of the cloudy day had given way to darkness but as she blinked and the world came into focus, she realized the room wasn’t completely dark. There was a light…hovering. She started before her senses came to her and she realized Hux was standing at the door with a tray and an old kerosene lamp. He sat cautiously on the floor beside her, as though he didn’t know how to behave and was taking a guess with each and every movement.

“Supper,” he said, handing her a bowl of stew with a thick slice of bread. As she took it, he seemed to hesitate before warning her, “I’m not accustomed to cooking.”

She looked from him to the stew in surprise.

“I’m not a picky eater,” she reminded him with raised brows. He huffed out a laugh, recalling how she used to devour the rations provided to them, never able to tuck away a treat for later or to trade the way the other troops did. While he was lost in thought, she picked up the spoon and dug in, closing her eyes as the warm broth hit her tongue.

“This is really good!” she exclaimed, sounding genuinely impressed. He stared at her for a beat before turning to his own meal. Her voice seemed higher now, more obviously feminine. He supposed she’d been lowering it purposefully for the sake of her ruse. His mind buzzed with unasked questions and finally, he broke his silence and asked the one that had bothered him the most. 

“How did you do it?”

He stared straight down at his food, not turning to look at her. His question surprised her and she appraised him momentarily before laying back against her pillows, watching the light from the lamp flicker across the ceiling.

“When I turned nineteen, I joined one of the volunteer organization that went to France. While I was there, I befriended two Americans working with the French Resistance. They got me a uniform and forged papers and just like that, I became Private Raymond Johnson.”

“I was the first to-,” he paused, seeming horrifically uncomfortable, “to discover you?”

She paused to think before answering.

“There were maybe ten soldiers introduced to me by the Americans who helped me become Raymond. After that, no one else suspected.”

He nodded but remained silent. The quiet dragged on, exaggerated by the scrape of their spoons against the bowls. Just when she thought she couldn’t bare it a moment longer and gave serious thought to standing and bolting from the room, broken leg or not, he finally spoke, revealing more of what was on his mind.

“There were other things you could have done for the war effort. Things better suited for your,” he swallowed thickly, “gender.”

“None that would put me on the front lines.”

At that, he turned and looked at her, meeting her eyes. Their hazel, not-quite-brown, not-quite-green color shone with intensity in the firelight and, to his great dismay, he felt heat rise in his cheeks.

“Your hand,” he croaked, voice cracking. “You need to change your bandages.”

She blinked at the sudden change in topic but nodded as he handed her the disinfectant and roll of bandages he’d bought in with him. He watched her struggle with it briefly before taking them from her to do it himself. He took her hand in his and gently unwrapped the old bandage. Fresh skin was slowly overtaking the wound, still red and raw looking. Her hand seemed smaller than he remembered and her fingers felt smooth but calloused, a sensation he found alarmingly captivating. He washed the wound clean before wrapping it with fresh gauze. 

“Does it feel any better?” he asked, words coming out softer than he’d intended. She flexed the fingers that were injured the worst and nodded. 

“I can almost move them again.”

“Good,” he nodded back and placed everything on the tray again, rising to leave.

“Hux,” she called out, suddenly.

He turned, drawing a deep breath.

“Thank you.”

For helping with the bandage? For supper? For essentially lying to his king and country?

“You’re welcome.”

___

A week passed. They fell into a routine that was not quite comfortable but still the best they could make of it. Hux had piddled around for a day or two until he couldn’t take it anymore and hired on some help to fix up the place. Rey started working her way through the dust-thick books left in the library where she’d taken up residence. In the meantime, Hux had gotten marginally better at cooking, with a few notable mishaps. Rey never complained about those few barely passable meals, even though he could hardly convince himself to pick at them. He’d steal glances at her reactions, the tips of his ears colored in embarrassment at his failures. She didn’t seem to notice, happily shoving the burnt food down into her mouth. When they were done eating, he would change her bandage for her and ignore how his throat bobbed whenever her skin brushed against his.

It had rained all week, still rather cold out, although winter was slowly melting into spring. Rey huffed, pushing back her still short hair, thinking ruefully that the weather hardly mattered. She wouldn’t be going for strolls anytime soon. She sat with her leg propped up on a tufted footstool he’d brought down from upstairs for her, trying her best to be interested in her current reading choice; a book written by some woman, a duchess by marriage apparently, on the latest tips for hosting sufficiently cosmopolitan parties. 

A hesitant knock at the door which she’d come to regard as familiar pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Hux standing there, in that strangely stiff way of his. When she’d known him as her commanding officer, he’d held a formidable presence. Now he always seemed as though he were an actor in one of the Christmas pageants she’d sneak into as a child, uncomfortable with the audience and unsure as to where to put his hands. Indeed, he seemed to stare at them when he was around her as though he’d never seen them before and he was positively distraught and dismayed at their presence- _how dare they present such difficulty_.

“Hello,” she greeted him, putting down her book. Her lips curled softly into a smile, happy for his company. Loneliness was something she had been accustomed to in childhood. Even in the army, things had been lonely. She made easy friends with several of her fellow soldiers but real connection had always eluded her. Until Hux. They’d come from such different places and yet had more in common than anyone would have guessed. Since his discovery of her secret, however, things had been…tense. Their little world had been knocked off its orbit, sent to hurtle aimlessly through space.

“Hello.” He cleared his throat.

“I-I’ve brought…,” he trailed off, lingering in the doorway. She watched as he moved to run a hand through his hair and then stopped. After a long, torturous pause where he seemed to be arguing with himself, he strode into the room, pulling up a chair and a low table to her sofa. He had a chess set tucked under his arm.

“I thought it might help to pass the time,” he said. She beamed at him, earning her a small, cautious smile. He set up the board as she watched with curiosity and amusement. He gave himself the dark pieces, and her the light.

“Well, then,” he said, fidgeting in his seat, back ramrod straight, “It’s your move.”

She hid a wide smile behind her fingers, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“You’ll have to show me how to play first.”

He flushed pink, flustered, before nodding and launching into a lesson on what he called the world’s finest game. The first hour wasn’t easy. He was quiet, even with her attempts to make conversation. But Rey could be patient. She knew all about waiting. Eventually, he relaxed, leaning forward to support his weight on his forearms, a look of concentration on his face. 

She took him in, feeling that she could really look at him at her leisure for the first time. The planes of his face were familiar to her, like a painting you pass by everyday so much you eventually stop looking at it straight on, and it surprised her when she realized how much she quite liked the color of his hair. Had his face always lacked freckles? Somehow, in her mind she’d invented a field of them but looking at him now, she realized his porcelain skin was almost completely devoid of them, only a few very light ones scattered across his meticulously clean shaven face. In his civilian clothes, with his hair not quite so tidy as she was used to seeing it, he seemed softer, younger. She licked her lips and tried to ease him into talking again. He finally perked up when she struck on a topic of interest.

“It’ll be any day now, don’t you think?” she asked. He sat up in his seat, meeting her gaze at last.

“Any day,” he echoed. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. For the last several years, everything in their lives revolved around one thing- the war.

“What will you do when our nation is at peace, Major General?” she smiled, moving her knight. He paused in thought, whether over his next move of his answer, she couldn’t guess. Finally, he moved another pawn.

“Settle down here, I suppose,” he answered, and the uncertainty told her he’d not given his post-war life much thought. As if knowing her mind, he added, “Truthfully, I’d always expected to stay in the military.”

She moved a pawn of her own. 

“I can’t imagine you staying in the country,” she laughed softly. 

“Neither can I,” he grimaced. “But I won’t go back to London.” He moved another pawn. “Especially since I’m supposedly dying from tuberculosis.”

Her breath hitched, guilt washing over her.

“Hux…I’m sorry that I- it’s my fault that you can’t serve now. I wish there had been some other way, but- I put you in this position,” she said so quietly he almost had to strain to hear, her eyes shining with emotion. Something about them made him want to assure her he’d do it again, that he’d do anything for her. 

“Let’s not speak of it,” he said instead, attempting to offer her a comforting smile. The corner of her lips quirked at his apparent unease with the expression. He was so obviously unused to looking cheerful, but he’d made his best go of it anyway. She chose to believe it was for her sake and delighted in that, despite her still stricken conscience. She met his eyes playfully before sliding her queen to the edge of the board and collecting one of the tall, dark pieces triumphantly.

“Queen takes King. Check-mate,” she grinned. He looked between her and the board disbelievingly before running a hand over his jaw. 

He’d quite forgotten to protect himself from her.


	2. Civilian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess this is going to be three chapters now.

The chess set did help pass the time, and when Hux wasn’t around to play or she’d grown bored of her book selection, she’d clamber onto her crutches and explore the bottom floor of the house. 

Occasionally, she would come across some boys carrying tool boxes or pieces of lumber and try to make conversation. They would only look down and say, “Yes, ma’am”, “No, ma’am.” 

The way they pronounced it “mum” made her think of the boys she’d grown up with, who ran around the streets of London with sooty hands and impish smiles. She wished they would talk more with her but somehow, she’d become an “upstairs” person- someone they avoided in fear of a scolding.

_Can’t even go upstairs_ , she thought sourly, ambling past a boy who tipped his cap at her and scampered away with gardening tools under his arm.

“Reychelle?”

She turned awkwardly on her crutches to find Hux standing there, holding what looked like boxes from ladies’ shops; the kind she’d seen people carry out of stores in London. Absentmindedly, she realized it was the first time he’d addressed her by name since that day in the woods.

“You can call me Rey,” she murmured. Reychelle was too weird coming from the man who had been her commanding officer. She eyed the boxes curiously. 

He cleared his throat and she noticed he looked as though he were having a great inner debate.

“ _Rey_ ,” he said cautiously. A deer creeping soft-footed into a clearing, ready to bolt. As if hearing the tentativeness in his own voice, he seemed to shake himself and stood up a little straighter, summoning his military training to mask whatever had just caused him such turmoil.

“I’ve brought you some clothes.”

He gestured down the hall to her room and she followed, sitting down on her sofa once more andrather glad to be off her crutches again. Sometimes, she’d push herself a little too hard in her eagerness to be up and a part of the world. 

Hux laid the boxes down in front of her and she took off the lids, inspecting the garments. All together, there were three new dresses, several simple sweaters, blouses, skirts, and even a pair of trousers. All of the clothes were mostly plain colors with modest details, although one of the dresses had a floral pattern. In awe of them, she ran her hands over the buttons and collars, the small pin tucks and belted waists.

He coughed behind his hand. “I know they’re not particularly fashionable-”

“They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, grinning so wide, her dimples cut into the apples of her cheeks. “The last time I had this many new things, they were military issue!” she laughed, full of mirth and wonder. His heart took an unexpected leap towards his throat. Thankfully, the sound of a car pulling up the drive spared him the opportunity to dwell on the panic caused by his traitorous emotions.

“That’ll be the new kitchen staff,” he said, striding to the door purposefully, “Excuse me.”

“Kitchen staff?” she asked, prompting him to pause.

“I thought- since we’ll be here awhile…,” he trailed off, though she continued to stare at him. “I figured you were tired of my poor attempts at being a chef,” he said at last, chuckling lowly in a self deprecating sort of way. It wasn’t a big laugh, the kind she’d shared with fellow troops during cold nights on the front, but then, he’d never been the kind to guffaw.

Either way, when Rey laughed along with him, it felt like a modicum of tension had dissipated.

-

“And through here is the cellar,” Hux droned as he led the group of women down the steps. “We grow our own produce so-,”

“Oh!” exclaimed the doe-eyed blonde one named Kaydel, “Onions! I can’t remember when I’d last seen one!”

He looked at the string of onions hanging from the cellar ceiling and nodded. They were fortunate that the gardens had continued to produce food despite being untended for so long. They’d been a mess when they first arrived but the boy he’d hired on to restore them had been doing a fine job.

“There’s a proper English garden in back, too!” smiled Paige, the taller of the Tico sisters. “The flowers are lovely!”

“Father had to uproot all the flowers in our front garden,” sighed Kaydel.

“Does the missus spend very much time out there, sir?” Rose asked curiously. 

He frowned. “The missus? I’m afraid I’m not married-,”

“Oh, but the gardener said there was a lady of the house,” Kaydel piped up. 

His eyebrows rose slightly as the pieces clicked into place.

“Ah, I see. Rey- er, Ms. Johnson is…well, that is, you see, she’s not my _wife_ ,” he remarked uneasily, taking a sudden interest in the baskets of root vegetables that lined the walls. 

When all three girls went quiet, Hux looked up and upon seeing the expressions of their faces, he discovered he had dreadfully misspoken.

“What I mean is, she’s a friend of the family! A cousin!” he added quickly. “She’s recovering from an injury and her- _our_ family thought the fresh country air would do her good. I’m merely caring for her while she heals.”

They each looked around and he could practically hear the wheels in their heads turning. The estate was large, yes, but no longer the kind of place anyone would go to holiday. He shifted uncomfortably and fought the urge to loosen his shirt collar. These young girls were so much more _vocal_ than the help he remembered tending to his home growing up. He was accustomed to footmen and maids who would keep to themselves.

“Well, it is a lovely place to recuperate,” Kaydel ventured.

“Yes; there are the gardens,” Paige quiped.

“Yes. _The gardens_ ,” Rose coughed. 

The small talk was long depleted, yet for some reason, they were still standing there while their new employer looked lost in thought.

“She must find them very refreshing,” Kaydel prodded again.

“No,” he murmured, “No, actually, she hasn’t really seen them yet.”

“Oh?” Rose asked, only to receive a discreet pinch on the hand and a stern look from her older sister. He clamped his hands behind his back, his nails biting into his palms as he swiftly made for the nearest exit in conversation.

“As I was saying, the laundry is this way,” Hux announced, heading for the stairs, eager to show the girls the rest of the house rather than spend one more minute thinking about why he hadn’t shown Rey the blasted gardens.

That night, when he and Rey had dinner, he brought up the idea of going into town to get her a wheelchair so that she could get around more comfortably while her leg healed. She beamed at him and the following day, he did just that.

And if it made it easier for her to see the gardens, well, so be it.

-

“We’re lucky it’s not raining today, even if it’s a little too cool,” he mused, pushing her out through the large doors onto the patio in her wheelchair. He had been rather unprepared for how taking her for a stroll might make him _feel_ but it was too late to back out now so he decided to stick with the inoffensive topic of _the weather_. 

She stretched her arms towards the sky and laughed, the sound making the corners of his mouth quirk up even if he still had the strange desire to run the other direction.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see the sun again!” she sighed joyously, clutching the picnic basket on her lap.

“It’s hardly been long enough for such dramatics,” he snorted, though the comment lacked any real bite. He pushed her wheelchair carefully down the two brick steps to the grass so he could give her a tour.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she murmured, entranced by the butterflies that glided among the petunias and violets. Behind her, he shrugged his shoulders, looking around and trying to see the landscape through her eyes. 

Hux had never thought much of these gardens when he spent summers here as a child. They were for his mother’s tea parties and socials, not a playground for him to explore.

“I’ve never seen a real garden like this,” Rey added thoughtfully. He remembered her telling him about her bleak childhood, late at night while hiding in a foxhole. That seemed long ago and faraway now, like a dream he’d woken from.

He nodded, though she couldn’t see him from her chair, and made the decision to take her around to all the features and points of interests before they stopped for lunch under an enormous Hawthorn tree in full bloom. 

He laid out the blanket and helped Rey from her chair, holding her good hand and lowering her gently to the ground, her injured leg tucked to the side. As she went about unpacking their picnic, he couldn’t help but watch her, his eyes following her every little movement. 

He drank in the sight of her hands digging in the basket and the way she tried to tuck her growing hair behind her ear, only for it to slip out again and brush her cheek. He imagined her with long, flowing locks, the color of rich coffee, curled and bouncing in the breeze. He shook his head, riding himself of the strange image.

But despite himself, he couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over her pale blue cotton dress that was fanned out over her legs and the soft looking ivory cardigan she wore over it which made him think of reaching out to test the fabric under his fingertips. Oddly enough, she looked as natural as could be, sitting there and smiling as she handed him his sandwich.

He himself felt entirely too…domestic in his own light sweater and trousers. Civilian life looked good on Rey but he missed the built in armor his military uniform provided him, defending him from the world. No longer did he feel like the staunch, imposing Major General he once was. 

He felt like a man on a picnic with a beautiful woman. It was something as new to him as an English garden was to Rey, and he found some modicum of comfort in that knowledge, for at least he had company in this foreign world of manicured hedges and cucumber sandwiches.

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the scenery, and Hux realized how thankful he was that they could sit together without feeling the need to fill every moment with chatter. When they were done, he began to pack away their things. 

Suddenly, Rey made a soft gasping sound, precious and breathy, that sent him stock still. When he looked up at her from the corner of his eye, his breath caught and he turned fully to take in the scene offered to him. A gust of wind had stirred the branches of the tree, sending a flurry of tiny white blossoms down on them. She held her hands out, the snowy flora collecting in her palms as little petals and flowers danced down around them, catching in her hair and drifting gently onto their blanket.

She looked over excitedly to show him the pile of porcelain flowers in her hands only to find him staring at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher but might be a twinge of pain. Indeed, he was in pain, for he’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

“Hux?” she called softly, “Are you alright?”

He ran his tongue over the seam of his lips as time caught up with him, the world no longer moving in slow motion. He blinked and nodded, coming out of his trance.

“I was just remembering something,” he answered. She tilted her head at him inquisitively, inviting him to go on.

“I was thinking about the last time I sat under a tree with you,” he murmured. She frowned for a moment in confusion before it dawned on her. She remembered lying on her back, her head propped up against the base of a tree and the cold seeping into her bones, the green of his eyes staring back at her from his dirt covered face…

Her injured hand throbbed at the memory and she clutched it to her chest, the flowers she held falling into a pile on her lap. Without her even noticing, he drew nearer and took the hand in his, inspecting it.

“Is it hurting?”

Rey’s eyes met his and it was clear he hadn’t realized how close he sat until her head tilted so that his lips hovered just above hers. The air between them felt as though it were humming- it made her pulse quicken.

Sitting so close, he could see a bit of jam left behind on the corner of her mouth. Idly, the thought formed that if he moved just a few scant inches, he could swipe his tongue over the sticky red sweetness there and taste it. 

Still holding her hand, he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles distractedly, the sensation of her soft skin registering as one of many among the collage of features that captivated him; flowers in her hair, bright hazel eyes, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and ruby red jam on her lips.

“Hurting?” she whispered, “No.” The high, breathy quality of her voice only served to make his throat bob as his eyes stayed trained on the tantalizing red smudge. He imagined her lips would be sweet regardless of its presence. Her chin titled up towards his, wordlessly offering him a taste, and hypnotized, he felt himself being pulled down.

The skies opened above them with a clap of thunder. Everything seemed to happen all at once. 

Hux lifted her into the wheelchair, depositing the picnic basket onto her lap and draping the blanket over her head before she could say anything about it. He ran back to the house as fast as he could without jostling her leg too badly but by the time they reached the doors of the estate, they were both soaked.

“Well, so much for that lovely picnic weather, huh?” she laughed, pulling the drenched blanket off of herself. It had managed to keep some of the water off of her. She looked better than Hux, at least, who looked like a drowned ginger tomcat, his woolen sweater hanging off his frame with the added weight. 

“Hm,” he agreed with a look of annoyance as he slicked his bright copper hair back from his face. “We’d better get out of these wet clothes.”

Rey shot him the same look his troops would whenever anyone would say anything the least big suggestive. Normally he’d roll his eyes in disgust. Now he felt his face heat to an embarrassing degree.

“I mean you should get into a hot bath,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes, “You’ll catch your death.”

“I would love that,” she giggled, gesturing to her cast, “but I’m afraid a hot bath’s not in the cards for me for awhile yet.”

Now he looked at her, frowning with concern. “You’re soaked to the bone.”

“I can’t get into the tub,” she shrugged, hugging her arms around herself for warmth. “I’ll just have to wash up with a towel like I usually do and change into some dry clothes. I’m sure it’ll be fine once I’m in front of the fire.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times and Rey began to seriously worry he was having some kind of meltdown when he clenched his jaw resolutely and fixed her with a serious look.

“I can help you,” he said determinedly. Her mouth fell open a little as she blinked up at him, pink beginning to tinge her cheeks.

“I won’t- I won’t _look_ ,” he quickly clarified, “I’ll just help you get into the tub and-”

“General,” she interrupted, giving him a wide, bright smile, “I trusted you with my life on the battlefield. I trusted you to keep my secret safe. I think I can trust you to help me into the bath.”

Hux cleared his throat and nodded, his face now equally reddened.

“Right.”

He wheeled her to the old servant’s quarters bathroom, where a modest porcelain tub sat surrounded by pastel tile motifs that were quite du jour forty years prior. When Rey had first seen this bathroom, she’d laughed out loud. Even the maids here had it better than she had growing up.

She lifted her hands to top button on the front of her dress before glancing up at Hux who started and quickly looked away. An amused smile broke out on her face as she began to undress.

“Alright,” she said, holding out her hand to him. Pointedly looking the opposite direction, he reached out blindly until she laid her hand in his and then took her by the arm, steadying her until she lowered herself successfully into the tub.

She propped her injured leg up onto the tub’s edge as he went to fiddle with the heating pipes at the edge of the bath, warm water pouring forth from the faucet.

“Too hot?” he asked, voice strangely rough and low as he looked up to the ceiling. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his commitment to not offend her.

“A little warmer, please,” she murmured back, sinking into the rising water. The heat of the water seeped into her skin and she let out a quiet, unconscious moan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hot bath. 

He moved away from the tub, fearing irrationally she might hear the thudding of his heart against his rib cage. 

“I’ll just- soap, then,” he muttered, rising to retrieve a bar of soap and towel from the sink. He handed both to her without looking and winced when he heard the soap drop into the water. He groaned an apology but she quickly dismissed it and thanked him for his help.

“Well, then,” he coughed, “I’ll, ah…wait outside until you’re done.”

“Actually,” Rey called out, just as he turned to leave, the water sloshing in the tub a bit, “Can you help me change my bandage? I’m afraid it’s soaked right through from the rain.”

Hux swallowed thickly before nodding and going to get a new bandage for her hand. She chewed at her lip as she watched his retreating form. Of course, she easily could have waited until her bath was over to ask him for his help with the bandage, but oddly, she found she wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet. 

When he returned, he knocked before walking in with a hand shielding his eyes and she concealed a smile against her shoulder. He set down a wooden stool and a candle.

“Hard to see in here,” he explained. She nodded in understanding. The lights still weren’t working in most of the house. She watched as he struck a match and lit the candle, feeling a little emboldened by the situation and taking the opportunity to study him carefully while he continued to avert his eyes from her bare body.

It was strange, coming to the conclusion that he was handsome. _Very handsome_. She found herself continually checking his face whenever she could because it was unbelievable to think she truly hadn’t noticed before. And yet, there was the proof, plain as day. 

His eyes were the most remarkable green, like the sea the first time she saw it on the boat heading to Paris. In the candlelight, he looked almost angelic, something she’d never expected to think about the military officer who barked decisive orders as bullets whizzed past their heads. His lips, though often frowning, seemed too soft for such a staunchly commanding man. She wondered what they felt like.

Carefully, he unwound the bandage from around her hand. He tried very hard not to pay too much attention to the way the light caught the steam rising from her skin. Mentally, he chided himself. Even when he was a boy, he’d never behaved this way. Now here he was, a decorated General blushing over a naked woman. At his age.

But as frustrated as he was with himself, it didn’t stop him from thinking about the fact that she _was_ very much naked and right in front of him. A part of him wished he could return to his days of ignorance when he believed her to be a plucky young man. Back when she was running between land mines at his heels and cocking a rifle against her shoulder amidst explosions and chaos.

It was difficult to reconcile those two images. The hand he now held in his own had seen as much war and death as he had and now it seemed so soft and small, needing his care. She shifted in the water and instinctively, his eyes flickered up for a split second before he remembered himself.

There was no denying the truth that things had drastically changed between them now. Certainly not with the way his body reacted to a quick glimpse of her bare, wet skin.

When she was finished with her bath, he helped her drain the tub and then stand and dress, all the while taking careful inspection of every miniscule crack in the bathroom tile. Decent once more, she slid a hand into her curling, damp hair, and offered him a grateful smile.

He surprised them both by lifting her into his arms and carrying her back to her room instead of using the wheelchair.

Down the hall, Rose Tico’s eyebrows raised towards her hairline as she silently crept backwards towards the kitchens, padding softly through the doorway over to where Kaydel stood chopping potatoes for dinner. She leaned over the countertop with lightly flushing cheeks.

“I’ve just seen the most _interesting_ thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can find out how at hattoripornzo.tumblr.com/


End file.
